Got milk?
by Lise Blodeuwedd
Summary: Ian and Mickey make up after having a stupid argument.


Ian sighs and throws the empty carton of milk on the trash.

"Damn it, Mickey, how hard is it to throw something away?", he yells, ignoring the fact that his boyfriend with whom he has been living for a few weeks now is not in the kitchen with him.

"What?" Mickey emerges from the bedroom, having heard his name.

"The milk! It ended and you didn't throw the carton out! Again!"

Mickey rolls his eyes. "Jesus, chill out, Gallagher! There was still some left, I can't throw good milk out now, can I?"

Ian raises the glass where he had poured the milk, less than an inch high.

"This is what was left, Mickey. It's almost nothing. Why didn't you just finish it?"

"Because I didn't want to. I poured what I wanted in a glass. If I poured more, it'd have fallen all over the counter and shit."

"Bullshit. You didn't use all of it because you were too lazy to go buy another one, so you thought if you left it like that, you wouldn't have to replace it since, technically, you didn't finish it. You always do that and I'm getting really fucking tired of it!"

"It's not bullshit! It's what happened! Why are you always complaining of something? Shit, I knew this moving in stuff was a bad idea!"

"Really, you're gonna give up because I asked you to get more milk? Grow up, Mickey!"

"You grow up! You were the one who asked for this, who insisted and pushed until I said yes, so fuck it!"

Ian swallows hard, fighting the tears that threaten to rise in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and calm, which actually terrifies Mickey a lot more than when he's screaming.

"I'm sorry, Mick. I thought this was something you wanted as well. If it isn't, you're free to go whenever you want." He side steps Mickey and goes into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Stupid. Fucking. Mickey. With his stupid. Fucking. Habits. And his stupid. Fucking. Mouth.

Ian feels the tears pooling in his eyes and falling on his face and wipes them away hastily. He doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to be so weak, but he can't help the feeling that maybe Mickey is right, maybe he did push things too hard and that love shouldn't be this fucking difficult. He sniffs and falls onto the bed, pressing his face against the pillow and wishing his tears to stop. Memories of moments he'd passed with Mickey rush through his mind: the first time they had sex, the first time Mickey kissed him, when Mickey got married, when he went away to join the army, when he came back, when they got back together, the first time he kissed Mickey, the first time he said "I love you" and the first time he heard it, the happiness he felt at hearing the words he'd known in his heart were true, but still wanted to hear out loud. He remembers when he first suggested they moved in together, how he'd had the idea in his mind for weeks before he finally mustered the courage to bring it up and the way Mickey had looked at him and laughed, not even considering the idea. He thinks about the other times he'd mentioned it and how Mickey had never said yes. He'd almost given up completely when Mickey asked him one day, when they were making out lazily on his bed and heard the sound of all the other Gallagher siblings coming home. _That offer still up?_ He remembers grinning so hard the corners of his mouth hurt, then kissing Mickey passionately, only to be interrupted by Debbie knocking on the door to let them know they'd brought dinner. He can almost see them going through all those apartments again – too small, too big, too dirty, too expensive, too far, too close, _perfect_.

He allows his thoughts to drift away and doesn't even notice falling asleep until the sound of the door opening wakes him up. His eyes flutter open to see Mickey sitting on the bed, a glass of milk on his hand. Ian sets his jaw, determined not to smile, adamant on Mickey apologizing. He's tired of forgiving Mickey easily without him even having to say sorry.

He sits on the bed, still looking angry, and Mickey hands him the glass. He takes it, and it feels warm in his hand, and he knows that Mickey's microwaved it for him, but he doesn't drink it. Instead he keeps staring at Mickey, waiting for him to say the first words.

Mickey sighs and wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, an old nervous habit that Ian has always found endearing, but that right now he's still too mad to smile over.

"Look, I… I didn't… It wasn't on purpose, all right? I mean, I really couldn't pour everything, I swear."

Ian doesn't react, doesn't even blink, eyes still cold staring into Mickey's.

"Come on, Ian. I… I'm sorry, okay? You're right; I should have gone and gotten more, even if I didn't finish all we had."

Ian looks down to the glass in his hand and takes a sip. He wants to ask Mickey about the other thing he'd said, wants to ask if he really regrets moving in together, but at the same time he's too afraid of knowing. He doesn't raise his eyes when Mickey starts speaking again.

"I didn't mean what I said, you know? About… All the stuff I said, I didn't mean it."

Ian finally looks up again and sees that Mickey's eyes are also brimming wish unshed tears.

"I love you." Mickey speaks lowly, so lowly that Ian can barely hear him even though they're sitting so close their knees are touching. It works though; it melts the ice on Ian's heart and makes him smile again. He leans over and kisses Mickey gently, his free hand cupping his boyfriend's cheek. He pulls back when he tastes salt and sees that Mickey's tears have spilled. He quickly wipes them with the back of his hand, still ashamed of crying, even after years together.

"It's okay, Mick. I guess I overreacted a bit as well. I think we both need some time to get used to living together and all. And I don't think we'll ever stop bickering, but that's all right too, I guess. A lot of couples bicker about small things. Just promise you'll stay and try with me."

Mickey nods and they kiss again, slowly and tenderly, lips pressing against each other in a mutual need of reassuring and being reassured.

"You gonna drink that before you spill it?" Mickey nods to the glass of milk still in Ian's hand.

Ian scrunches his nose. "Nah, don't want it anymore."

The look Mickey gives him is half shock, half anger. Ian laughs.

"All right, all right, I'll drink it! Yum… delicious!"


End file.
